


make a wish upon a falling asteroid (and the crater that ensues)

by friedgalaxies



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Disabled Character, Forensics, Gen, M/M, Murder Mystery, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21604102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friedgalaxies/pseuds/friedgalaxies
Summary: "Y'know, this isn't the first time I've been locked in a room with a hot guy while in handcuffs."After the mysterious death of White Star, crime syndicate boss and criminal with a record a mile long, the only suspect for his murder happens to be his only heir, one Botan "Black Star" Showakusei. Despite his general reluctance to be shacked up with a babysitter or even be held as suspect for the murder at all, Black Star finds himself working closely alongside the Death City Bureau of Investigation to find the culprit behind his long-estranged father's gruesome murder. He doesn't really have any other choice, considering he's being framed.
Relationships: Black Star/Death the Kid
Comments: 33
Kudos: 73





	1. public (criminal) record

**Author's Note:**

> this is your typical whodunnit, clue style murder mystery with a twist! trigger warnings for graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of injury, implied child abuse, and implied child neglect.  
> an index for each of the degrees will be in the end notes!

“Y’know, this isn’t the first time I’ve been locked in a room with a hot guy while in handcuffs.”

Daividh Thanatos Kindred Death, MD.[1], but more commonly known as “Kid” for obvious reasons, rolled his eyes. He didn’t normally deal with the suspects, but at present, his precinct was faced with a bit of a… unique situation.

“And this isn’t the first time I’ve been stuck in a room with a loud-mouthed criminal, but here we are,” he sighed, flipping open his manilla case file. Gruesome closeups of a dessicated, dissected body lain out on a stainless steel operating table were clipped to the pages upon pages of text. It was a man, shock of greying hair still barely streaked with black, skin ashen with the grip of death, scarred heavily around the wounds. His face seemed to be stuck in a permanent grimace even in rigor mortis, lines of a scowl carved deep into his aging face. A rather unremarkable body, considering Kid had seen far worse in his days as a forensic pathologist for the DCBI-- Death City Bureau of Investigation-- so this, gruesome as it was, hardly turned his stomach.

What did make his abdominal muscles clench uncomfortably, though, was the last picture in the file; a shot of the body’s right shoulder, where an ivory-white star tattoo had been inked deep into the muscled flesh. A star of which he had yet to see in person till that body graced his operating table, and again today, on the right shoulder of the man sitting cuffed to the titanium table before him.

The solid metal around the man’s wrists and ankles, bound to the table and chair, which, similarly, had also been bolted to the floor, offered Kid little comfort. The fact that two of his best field agents/ballistic analysts stood behind the two-inch-thick one way mirror behind him offered little more.

The grin the man across from him was wearing, though, offered the least amount of comfort at all.

“So why’s the coroner interrogating me? Don’t you usually leave that to some kinda shrink?” the man asked with what he probably believed was a coquettish grin, but just made Kid want to pull a grimace akin to one might if they had a fish hook stuck in their upper lip.

“Yes, we usually do, and Ms. Mjolnir is rather skilled at her job. Don’t worry, you’re certain to meet her later. But, no, our case here is a bit… unique,” Kid cleared his throat, tapping the end of the papers in the file against the table. “Considering you are the victim’s next and only of kin, you’re the one the news is to be broken to.”

Kid set his fingers together, wrists settled on the table in front of him, fixing the man with a long stare. The man’s cotton-candy-blue hair did nothing to make his sharp, animalistic grin and the sinewy ropes of muscle coiled along his limbs any less threatening. “Would you like to see the autopsy photos? They’re rather enlightening.”

If he had been face to face with anyone else, Kid could’ve sworn he saw the barest hint of a scowl flash across the man’s face. “Fuck no.”

“Right, I’m sure you’ve seen them already,” Kid drawled, flicking through the file with feigned disinterest. The man made a noncommittal grunt. “Our victim, Shiro ‘White Star’ Showakusei, suffered two broken humeri, a bruised cranium, a shattered nasal bone, severe bruising, and cuts and abrasions to the face and body.”

The man stared at him blankly, yet his fool mouth remained closed, so Kid continued. “It appears as though he was physically attacked, though the swelling of the abrasions would suggest they were made post-mortem, when rigor mortis was already beginning to set in and the skin had begun to toughen.

“Upon further investigation, his intestines hinted towards organ failure. Organ failure, as you may know, makes the victim sluggish, slow, preoccupied with other symptoms such as seizures, dizziness, vomiting, you get the idea. My medical team and I are supposing that after organ failure was induced, his nasal bone was shattered and that is what caused the bruising in his cranium and subsequent flooding of blood to the brain.”

The man continued to stare, blankly. Kid sat his file down with the resigned sigh of someone who had been in this position many, many times before. “It appears as though your dear father was poisoned, and thus had his nose bashed into his skull during a struggle, where his brain began flooding with blood. To cover up what had happened, his attacker or attackers damaged his arms to make it appear as though he had been defending from knife attacks and possibly died of blood loss. What say you, Botan?”

“Black Star,” the man, Botan-- Black Star all but growled, and suddenly he seemed that much more dangerous.

“Ah, so it is true what they say. Star Clan is rather fond of their monikers, hm?” Kid posited. He knew he was pushing it, and if the convict in chains bolted to the floor of the interrogation room in the base that was practically more of a home to him at this point didn’t, his father’s lashing, though verbal, would follow through on that front instead. But even so, he enjoyed the way it made his blood curdle.

He could see why Marie enjoyed doing this, though her motives were likely more... philanthropic.

“Say whatever the fuck you want about them, it doesn’t matter to me,” Black Star scoffed, leaning back and crossing his arms as far as the bindings would allow. “I haven’t been connected with those bastards since I was, what, fifteen? You’d be better off talking to them directly about this. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“And yet, you don’t have an alibi.” Kid steepled his fingers, peering at Black Star over the tips of long, thin fingers, idly twisting the silver rings around his thumbs against each other. “And even more so, this seems to be directly your kind of work, from what I’ve gathered. The broken arms, the blow to the nose- your knuckles are rather bruised, aren’t they?”

“From kickboxing and MMA fighting, yeah,” Black star rolled his eyes. “I told you already, though, I was with my foster parents and then I went to the gym.”

Kid scanned a wary eye over the tense lines of the suspect’s body. “The empty gym. Of course.”

“Not my fault those douchebag gymrats aren’t as dedicated to the grind as I am. All they want is enough muscle to show off, not for anything practical,” Black Star griped. He looked Kid up and down with the kind of critical eye one earned from spending most of their waking hours watching newbies fumble with the weight rack. Kid could almost place the look as one he’d seen on his own face many times before, from watching barely-turned-legal boys with shoddy pistols they’d “borrowed” from family gun cabinets bruise themselves with kickback at the shooting range.

“Aren’t cops supposed to be, like, jacked? I could snap you over my knee like a twig.” Black Star visibly eyed the ornate ebony cane leaning against Kid’s side of the table. “I thought only old people used canes.”

“ _Special agents_ who don’t have heart defects[2] that would cause them to go into cardiac arrest should they strain themselves too much tend to be rather fit, yes,” Kid replied cooly, standing with the thick manila file tucked under his arm. He made a show of leaning on his cane as he made for the door, dark hairs along his thin arms rising in barely contained nerves beneath the dark sleeves of his suit jacket.

“He’s insufferable. Dumber than a box of rocks, and just as stubborn. Good luck, Marie,” Kid grumbled, passing off the file to his coworker as he exited the interrogation room. Marie Mjolnir, PsyD.[3], gave him a sunny smile that was almost angelic, with the halo of golden silk curls that rested gently on her lapels, but the custom tailored eyepatch detracted from the cherubic nature of it ever so slightly.

Part of what made Marie so effective was her soothing nature on people, lulling them into enough of a sense of comfort she could get about as accurate of an analysis on their psyche as was possible; yet, she remained intimidating. Perhaps it was the gold thread embossed eyepatch, or the broad, confident set of her shoulders, or the fact that she was absolutely lethal with a right hook.

They didn’t call her The Hammer for no reason.

“How’d it go?” one of his field agents asked, peeling herself away from the one-way-mirror to sidle up next to him. Liz Thompson, BS., ABC certified[4], and also one of Kid’s two adoptive sisters who had happened to fall into criminology alongside him. It wasn’t surprising, given who their collective father was, and how both of Kid’s sisters had had a slightly nerve inducing affiliation with weapons since before Kid had even met them.

As it stood, both Liz and Patty Thompson, both BS., ABC certified weapons analysts and field agents, were flanking either of his sides as he stalked back to the lab in the building over. It was as though they could sense his sour mood and not just read it in the aggravated lines of his normally stoically calm face.

“So, how’d it go?” Liz repeated, arm loosely threaded through Kid’s elbow as if he were leading her onto a ballroom dance floor and not practically storming back to his usual place.

“I have a cadaver to get back to,” Kid grunted. He would’ve ripped his arm out of his sister’s grip, if she were literally anyone else.

“Doesn’t the good Doctor Stein have that all handled? How lively can a corpse get?” Patty asked, tugging at his sleeve with the kind of childish fervor she’d never grown out of. Despite it all, Patty was scarily accurate with a pistol, and could deduce the make and model of any gun, knife, or dagger in a matter of minutes. Still, she had the petulant kind of persistence that only a younger sister could have, and it was currently directed on Kid.

“He’s-- I have no idea how Marie does it! He’s dismissive, arrogant, bull-headed, and all but threatened to bite my throat out with his teeth when I dared call him by his given name.” Kid could feel his face coloring to a bright red as he spoke, made even more neon by the sickly pale hue of his complexion. But, truth be told, only part of that was because of the mounting frustration he felt at their suspect-slash-victim-by-association. His blood curdled in a kind of sickeningly fascinating way, almost like when he was making the first cut into a new corpse, or when he’d get into fights as a teenager and felt the crack of bone beneath his fist. Kid didn’t get into many fights anymore, but he did cut open a lot of bodies.

He left his sisters at the doorway of the building, adjusting his cravat as the door slid open beneath the practiced, near frantic press of his fingers along the keypad.

“Do we really have to keep him alive? People are so much more agreeable when they’re already dead.”

“Amen to that,” Franken Stein, DO.[5], chuckled from where he was carefully scraping off a sample of the lining of White Star’s stomach.

\-------

“We’re taking him into witness protection,” Hades Thanatos Kindred Death, DCJ.[6], director of the DCBI, announced to his waiting boardroom of agents. Kid nearly choked on his tea.

“Well, it’ll surely be interesting, at least?” Tsubaki Nakatsukasa, MSFS.[7], offered optimistically from her place at the director’s left, cradling a thermos of herbal tea between calloused, scarred palms.

They had been discussing Black Star-- Botan Showakusei for the better part of an hour before the director finally deigned to attend the meeting he had arranged, usual grin playing at his thin lips and wrinkling the deep crows feet around his eyes. Meetings were not called often, especially not this early in the morning, and especially not with all the members of what was colloquially known as “Team Death”. Normally at this time of morning, Kid would find himself holed up in the laboratory conspiring over autopsies with the good Doctor Stein, or cleaning surgical implements, or doing anything but trying to keep hot chai from scalding his windpipe at the idea that they were sending a _criminal_ into _witness protection_.

“But he’s not a witness,” Soul Evans, BS., piped up from where he reclined with an arm over the back of his rolling chair. His eyes were half-lidded with either lingering sleep or disinterest. Knowing him, it could be either, or both. “And considering the guy’s criminal record, he could plenty defend himself.”

“Can’t defend yourself from a bullet, or a surprise hit when you’re asleep,” Maka Albarn, CSDJ.[8], quipped back, nudging his exposed ribs with her elbow. Kid hid the exasperated roll of his eyes behind another, more careful, sip of disappointingly weak tea. He’d known the both of them since high school and they still hadn’t grown out of their teenage ribbing.

"Only if you're a pussy."

“He has information we need either way. It’s just a matter of getting it out of him,” Stein drummed the lacquered tabletop with dull nails. A sloppily stitched and long healed scar rolled over the base of his knuckles in a thin black wave in time with the monotonous rhythm. “It’s just a matter of getting it out of him. Marie?”

Marie visibly deflated, taking a grumbling sip of her triple shot espresso, “I haven’t had very much luck. I think Kid got more out of him than I did.”

“He’s stubborn, that’s for sure,” Kid scoffed, crossing his legs with the vindication of someone who was already quite at their limit with the whole affair.

“That’s why he’s going into witsec! We can’t learn anything from him if he isn’t safe, and, furthermore, isn’t _here_.” Death Sr. all but bounced as he spoke, smiling as if he were talking about lunch plans and not plotting for how they were going to keep a persecuted criminal with intense gang connections safe under their watch. “Beyond Star Clan being out for his head, there’s the possibility of whoever murdered White Star— provided that it wasn’t Black Star himself— is out for his son and only heir’s blood.”

“With Black Star out of the picture he can’t take back Star Clan and put them back in power,” Kid murmured, nail between his teeth.

“Exactly, Kiddo!” Death praised.

“So… where are we taking him? Where is he going?” Soul asked, swaying lightly from side to side in his chair.

“Ah, I haven’t quite decided that yet.”

“Why not with one of us?” Tsubaki posed, having finished off her thermos and moving to picking at an oversized blueberry muffin. Gluten free and vegan friendly, if Kid knew her as well as he thought.

“He’d probably be safest under direct watch,” Liz shrugged. “Isn’t that how we’re supposed to do it, anyway? ‘Those with extenuating circumstances should always be placed in the direct care of a special agent should they befall outside harm during the investigation’, and all.”

Silently, Kid was impressed with his sister’s rote memorization of one of their core rules, given that she had never been the bookish type, unless it was concerning fashion magazines and weapons catalogues.

“Exactly!” Death snapped his fingers like he’d had a revelation. Kid didn’t like the look of the grin on his father’s face. That sort of grin usually got him in trouble by association. “Which is why Kid will be his keeper!”

“What?” Kid spluttered. This time, he really did choke on his tea.

Tsubaki thumped helpfully at his back as he hacked, expression apologetic, but he couldn’t be exactly sure if she was sorry about the assignment or the fact that his lungs had been assaulted by tea that was barely passable as more than hot water.

“Father, I live with _you_. In the middle of _Death City_ , less than _two blocks away_ from here, and my schedule is such that I am _hardly ever home_. Isn’t that one of the last situations to place witsec in?”

“Ah, but if you wanna hide something, always hide it in plain sight,” Stein grinned at him around an unlit cigarette. Kid hissed through his teeth, resisting the urge to climb bodily onto the table like a feral cat.

“Whose side are you even _on?_ ”

“That’s decided, then! We’ll begin making arrangements this afternoon. Maka, would you please draft up the paperwork for me? Marie, please tell Black Star about his reassignment. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear. Those holding room cots are horribly uncomfortable, after all.” And with that, Death gathered his file folders and half finished jumbo mug of pitch black coffee, meandering out the board room door. Stein slowly stood, gathering his own things before shuffling after. Kid groaned.

“Hey, at least you’ll have a good story to tell once we get all this sorted out.” Maka offered, more hope in her voice than Kid felt in his entire body at that moment.

“Yes, that is if I don’t get stabbed in my sleep first.”


	2. watch those stars flicker out, boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stein makes an appearance, tsubaki is the goth science queen of our dreams, and black star has bit off more than he can reasonably chew,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait on this one! next few chapters should be coming out much faster.

The workday started early for Kid.

He rose precisely at six-thirty-AM, no earlier, no later, to turn off the pump steadily pumping yellow-green fluids filled with electrolytes directly into his central line, IV pole looming over his bedside with its collection of wires and tubing like a skeleton that had been stripped of everything but the circulatory system. Then came unhooking the pump from his line, performed with the practiced care of a surgeon at the sterile stainless steel medication cart in a corner of his bedroom, light filtering lazily through his curtains in great syrupy lines of marmalade orange across his carpet and into his eyes, still crusted over with sleep.

He showered, dressed, and descended the stairs afterwards, adjusting the pin on his cravat in the shape of what had been a fragment of the Death family crest, stylized into the shape of a simple skull with fanged prongs for teeth and simple holes for the orbits and nasal aperture. The same emblem was tacked onto his silver thumb rings, and the tie clip his father wore with his suits.

After followed a light breakfast of scones, green tea-- he wasn’t allowed caffeine in any form, not even the most pitiful of coffee, lest his heart begin beating in a rapid, offset arrhythmia even his pacemaker couldn’t fix-- and the handful of daily morning medications he kept in a pill organizer next to where the kettle was stored. While waiting for his father to finish getting ready for the day, he set about checking that every door and window in the house was double, triple-locked, coming back to the kitchen just in time for Death Sr. to finish his own breakfast and drive the two of them to the DCBI grounds. They arrived at precisely eight-AM every morning, where Kid would retreat to the autopsy lab and assist the good doctor Stein.

Kid was rather fond of routines, after all, and he hadn’t found anything worth changing his morning.

Of course, sometimes one’s routine was forcibly changed by events outside of their control.

Kid groaned awake to the sharp rap of knuckles against his bedroom door, instead of the insistent beeping of the fluid pump letting him know it was finished with his course of fluids for the night. A groggy, sleep addled glance at the clock let him know it was still only six-seventeen-AM, and he had but thirteen minutes more of sleep.

Alas, whoever it was knocked again, this time much more insistently, and Kid dragged himself out of bed lest his bedroom door be knocked down by an intruder. He opened the door, IV pole trailing behind him in the loose fingered grip of his right hand, scowling.

Black Star blinked owlishly at him, knuckles still poised to knock again, and Kid considered himself lucky the man hadn’t followed through with what would have been an accidental punch to the brow. Accidental, yes, but still very much painful, if the ragged scabs over long-healed scars along Black Star’s knuckles had anything to say about it. The man’s electric-blue hair was already slicked upwards into outlandish spikes, clad in only a worn shirt and cheetah print shorts that would have been much more home on any teenage girl’s legs instead of near bursting at the seams in their struggle to hold onto Black Star’s musclebound thighs.

“Yes?” Kid croaked, clearing his throat, expecting some sort of tirade of questions as to why he looked as though he had just crawled out of bed. To be fair, he just had, and a succinct reversal of recent actions was looking more appealing by the second. Instead, Black Star blinked again, pointing just over Kid’s shoulder at the looming tangle of wires and skinny metal pole arms.

“The hell’s that?” The incredulousness was clear in his voice.

Kid groaned internally, scrubbing a hand down his face and trying not to be too brusque with the man who could stab him with an impromptu weapon via the kind of reflexes that would have him jumping out the nearest window before Kid could even blink. “My fluid pump. I assume you already know what an IV pole is, considering how much time you’ve spent in hospital recovering from knife fights and the like.”

Black Star scowled in return, crossing his arms vindictively. “Yeah, but why’ve you got one? You steal it, or somethin’?”

“Black Star, I’m assuming you’ve been in and sent enough people to the hospital to understand that there are patients with long standing, chronic conditions, yes?” Kid asked, though he wasn’t really expecting an answer. The lack of knowledge their-- his, he reminded himself-- current charge lacked shouldn’t have been surprising by now. Kid still half expected him to ask what a dinner knife was, but even vaguely weapon shaped things he’d proven to have extensive knowledge of, so probably not. “It’s too early to get into my medical history, though, so if you’re hungry I’ll ask that you go downstairs and ask one of the cooks to prepare breakfast for you instead of accosting me in my own bedroom.”

Kid turned to slam the door, but Black Star held a palm flat against it, apparently far too enamored with questioning Kid even for the prospect of breakfast to entice him.

“You got cooks in this place? The hell kinda fancy rich boy are you?”

Kid snorted, ending the fluid cycle on his pump with a button press. He may as well get up now, since he was already awake, though fatigue continued to hang heavy in his bones. “Star Clan isn’t the only one with money and prestige, you know.”

“I told you, I don’t affiliate with those bastards anymore. I dunno what they’re up to.”

“Yes, as you’ve stated multiple times, but unless you were ostracized from ages infancy to sixteen-years, I’d at the very least _hope_ that they fed and clothed you with their extensive funds. I hear White Star had a rather nice house, before, well, you know.”

Black Star turned a withering look in his direction. The fact that Kid had at least two inches on him, even barefoot, did little to lessen its intensity.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready.”

Black Star let him slam the door this time. Kid collapsed against it with a sigh.

The better part of an hour later found Kid downstairs in the kitchen, Black Star having apparently found one of the cooks and annoyed them until he was given food, as he was partway through devouring a massive stack of pancakes. Kid made a politely disgusted noise in the back of his throat at the ferocity with which the man ate.

He settled into his usual chair after setting the kettle on to boil. A singular pancake had been saved from the massive pile for him, already waiting in place of his customary scones with blueberry jam and lemon curd.

“So,” Black Star began, mouth still full. Kid held back a chastisement over the rim of his mug, the calming scent of green tea doing little for his frayed nerves. He had a feeling frayed nerves would be commonplace with his new charge. “What’s on the schedule today?”

“I have work.” Kid replied smoothly, carefully cutting his breakfast into perfectly even squares. “You’ll be coming with me. I’ll see if I can find some coloring sheets to keep you busy.”

Black Star cackled around a mouthful of pancake and syrup, “For a suit you’re actually kinda funny. There’s very few people who can talk down to the great Black Star and make it out uninjured.”

“Yes, well, I believe it helps that should you assault me you’ll be charged with assaulting a federal agent. You might as well try and get this whole case off my hands.” Kid sniffed pointedly.

“Oh yeah-“ Black Star began to stand, quite literally rising to Kid’s challenge with his palms pressed flat against the tabletop, but was quickly interrupted by the appearance of Death Sr. at the open kitchen doorway. If anything Kid could admire how his father’s very presence commanded attention, even if the man himself wasn’t always as serious as one of his position should be.

“Good morning, boys, good morning!” Death beamed, setting about preparing himself a cup of black French roast coffee, two sugars, no cream. “I hope you both slept well, hm? You’re up a little earlier than usual, Kiddo.”

Kid could practically feel Black Star snort, muttering Kid’s childhood nickname that had long since held over into adulthood under his breath. Like most of his dealings with the man thus far, he elected to ignore it.

“Good morning, Father,” Kid answered in return, stabbing at his pancake with a touch too much force. “I did, yes, but I was awoken early by our guest, with the most pressing query as to what was being served for breakfast and when.”

“I trust it didn’t throw you off too much? Kid likes to keep a tight schedule.” Death threw a wink over his son’s shoulder at their charge, playful grin never faltering. Apparently, Kid was of the minority in his reservations about getting too close to the _literal actual criminal and murder suspect_ who was now in their care. He trusted his father’s judgement, of course, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t question it. It had been many years since he last hung off his father’s every word without question, even if he did still revere the man almost as much as he always had.

“I don’t think it will, no. If you’ll excuse me, I need to check the perimeter.” Kid pushed away from the table, excusing himself as politely as he could before beginning his morning check of all the exterior doors and windows in the house.

“What’s with that?” Black Star asked as soon as the other was just out of sight, lowering his voice to what most would consider normal speaking level but was practically whispering for him. Death exhaled lightly through his nose, beginning to generously spread butter and syrup over a small plate of pancakes that had been left for him. “He’s actin’ all… weird. Washed his hands like ten times before he even sat down.”

“Yes, well,” Death began with the air of someone who had had this conversation many times before and wasn’t interested in having it again. “Kid, as you’ve undoubtedly noticed, is rather unique. I’m not at liberty to reveal all of his conditions, that’s far too invasive, but I’m aware he’s shared that he has a heart condition with you.”

“Kid also has a rather… unique outlook on life?” Death twirled his fork thoughtfully in the air in thought as he spoke. “When he was a baby, I noticed some concerning signs- obsessive behaviors, stringent routines, difficulties with change in schedule, things like that- and he was diagnosed with autism and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I’ll assure you that though he is disabled, my son’s mental faculties are as sharp as anyone else’s. Far sharper, in fact, than most.”

Death’s tone had taken on a dark note of warning to not push the issue too far. Black Star, however, had never been particularly adept at reading between the lines.

“Isn’t that that one disorder where people wash their hands a lot? What’s that got to do with checking the locks on windows?” he asked, words only slightly intelligible around a mouthful of pancake.

Death’s brow creased and he resisted the urge to press at his temples, instead taking a long sip of dark coffee.

“Cleanliness has to do with it, yes, but not always. Kid in particular prefers to be clean, he’s very stringent about that, and I will not deny him the harmless compulsions that bring him peace of mind. No, it has to do moreso with an innate need for routine, for… specific behaviors that ease the state of mind.”

For a man who had two left feet, Death was rather skilled when it came to dancing around a topic without revealing too much. He didn’t want to step on his son’s pride, after all, or destroy any boundaries he’d worked so carefully to build up without cutting himself off from the rest of the world. It was a careful balancing act, as most things were for Kid. His act of being alive each day was a bit like spitting directly into the face of a higher power, and Death would do anything to keep his son’s life as easy and carefree as possible.

Not that his chosen career made that particularly easy either, but he did what he could. Tackling the barrage of invasive questions others had about his behaviors before they could get to Kid was part of it. Kid could handle himself, he was a grown man with a doctorate and a steady, high position job, but Death could see the world-weary set of his son’s shoulders whenever he was prodded by yet another stranger, even if he never let the stress of it show on his face.

He’d always been so _stoic_ , his boy.

“Is he afraid of something? Thinks someone’s gonna get past your security system and rob you blind?” Black Star made a vague motion to the room, undoubtedly meaning the intense security system laced throughout the entire house. Death’s brow twitched in something between amusement and resignation. He sighed, setting his coffee down.

“I’m not surprised you noticed it. No, his checking locks on doors and windows and whatever else doesn’t come from a fear of breaking and entering, it’s from a fear of what could happen to those he loves if he doesn’t.”

Black Star opened his mouth again, but the look Death sent his way made it very clear he was finished answering questions about the subject.

They finished their respective breakfasts in a slightly tense silence, which was only broken when Kid appeared at the kitchen doorway again, habitually straightening the lapels of his suit jacket, cane tucked in the crook of his arm as he did so. It was a simple but elegant thing, made of ebony wood and with a gilded, delicately curved handle that fit just so in the grip of his hand. He’d had it custom made, as a professional man needed professional looking mobility aids and nothing less.

Besides, the previous cane he’d been using didn’t fit with his aesthetic at all.

“Shall we, then?” Death Sr. asked, spinning his hefty keyring around a single spindly finger. They had the resources for a driver, of course they did, but there was something about seeing Death himself peel out of the parking garage in a jet black Crown Victoria at the end of a harrowing work day that couldn’t be replicated anywhere else.

“Shotgun!” Black Star screamed near loud enough to make Kid’s ears pop. He swallowed a wince and committed to riding in the back amongst boxes of case files like some kind of petulant middle schooler on the way to Take Your Kid To Work Day.

The ride to the compound was silent as Black Star sulked in the back amongst boxes of disorganized case files. Kid preened as he adjusted the radio; a passenger-seat only privilege. Death Sr. could be described as driving with a lead foot at the most generous, and as absolutely reckless at the least. Black Star quickly changed from sulking to grinning like a madman as Death took another corner at an inadvisable speed, and Kid only clutched tighter to the Oh Shit bar above him and to the right. If his father and the prime suspect in their case were getting along, things were looking to be far worse for the imminent future than he thought.

Black Star continued to grin as they entered the compound, following loosely behind Kid. It was only as Death peeled off towards the winding staircase that lead directly to his office from the main floor of the compound that he seemed to register where they were going, though he didn’t hesitate to speak up when Kid began keying in the code for the heavy double doors of the autopsy building.

“Wait, hey- are you takin’ me to where all the dead bodies are?”

Kid refrained from rolling his eyes, though just barely. “Yes, where else would you be? I’ve officially been assigned your _keeper_ for the time being, so unless you have another idea that will keep you under surveillance and on the compound grounds with one of my coworkers, you’ll be accompanying myself and the good doctor Stein in the autopsy building for the foreseeable future.” Black Star was beginning to look a bit green around the gills, and Kid couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk that crawled lecherously across his face.

“Why, can’t handle a little blood?”

“No,” Black Star huffed, scuffing the toe of his boot against the tile flooring and looking anywhere but ahead of him, a sharp contrast to the straining tension he’d been putting on his neck to get a look around the compound without actually leaving Kid’s reach just moments prior. “Just don’t wanna see my old man all laid out and sliced up is all.”

Kid waved away the other man’s concern, doors sliding shut behind the two of them and another set opening automatically. A cold rush of chemical saturated air buffeted them as they entered. “He’s already been put away. I’m sure Stein has another autopsy ready to perform, anyhow. We are a rather busy precinct.”

Black Star cast a perfunctory glance around, “Where is that quack, anyway? First Miss Sunshine won’t stop yammerin’ on about him, and now you, too.”

“That quack is right behind you.”

Kid would be lying if he said he didn’t delight in the resulting startled jump and uncharacteristically high yelp that came from Black Star at the unexpected-- for him, at least-- appearance of the head autopsy resident looming just over his shoulder. For a man of his stature, Stein had the awfully inconvenient habit of sneaking up on people.

Kid turned, having finished scrubbing up at the sink, suit sleeves still rolled up to his elbows and hands dripping wet, to see his superior with one of Black Star’s clenched fists in the grip of his own pale, long fingered hand. The doctor seemed little more than amused, if not slightly surprised, at the attack on his person. While his silent approaches had had many of their colleagues jumping out of their own skin, few had actually tried to attack the man. Kid supposed there was a first for everything.

Stein raised a thin silver brow in Kid’s direction, finally releasing his hold on Black Star’s fist. “Good reflexes on this one.”

“Yes, he’s rather adept.” Kid drawled in return. “Though if I were you, I’d refrain from harming him, Doctor. He’s a key character witness and _suspect_ in our current case.”

Stein hummed, sidling up along the long stainless steel desk that backed up to the far wall, flipping through a thick manilla case file. “Yes, he is an interesting one, isn’t he? I’d love to pick his brain.”

“Stop talkin’ about me like I’m not here!” Black Star interjected indignantly.

“By the way, Tsubaki has information for you.”

Kid cocked a perfectly groomed brow in the senior doctor’s direction. Stein offered no further information, simply lighting up a cigarette that definitely wasn’t allowed within the compound itself, shrugging. “You’re the one who specializes in chemical warfare. I just cut up the bodies.”

Kid snorted, primly, “You certainly do. Come along, Black Star. I’d like to introduce you to our forensic scientist.” He made for the door again, brushing past Black Star without a glance in the man’s direction.

“What-- hey! Don’t order me around like a damn dog just ‘cause you’re my babysitter!” Black Star yelped, making what was certainly an impressive display of indignance via elaborate, flailing hand gestures as he spoke, had Kid bothered to look. Kid rolled his eyes, hazarding a glance at Black Star only as he was keying in the passcode for the double doors from the inside.

“Do you really want to stay with the man who dissects and taxidermies roadkill for fun? He’s far more literal about ‘picking your brain’ than you think he is, you know.”

Black Star’s face finally began to peek past the green hue he’d taken on the around the gills upon reaching Tsubaki’s underground lab, almost an entire floor dedicated to her case research. A ballistic range the Thompson sisters often borrowed for more complex cases of ballistic analysis took up the majority of the backmost third of the lab, sharing a wall with Tsubaki’s personal office. The rest of the concrete floor space, left in its most natural smooth, grey state for easy cleanup, was taken up by monitors, tables, computer towers and server racks, and more scientific equipment than any blossoming science major could hope for. Tsubaki was a queen of her kingdom, and lorded over it with an iron fist and giant platform goth boots that made her even more unfairly tall than she already was.

Kid knocked primly eight times on the heavy metal door, heralding his arrival with a questioning, “Tsubaki? The good doctor said you had something interesting for me. I’ve brought our captive along as well.”

“Kid!” Tsubaki turned from where she had been diligently smearing lines of what could only be White Star’s intestinal lining like a fine patee onto microscope slides, already beaming. She had always been a particularly sweet, sunny person, right up there alongside Marie, which tended to throw newcomers off, considering she spent all day up to her elbows in chemical residues and intestinal scrapings.

To Black Star’s credit, he did take the whole thing in stride rather well.

“Woah! Are those my old man’s _guts_?” he shouted, loud enough to rattle a few pieces of glassware on Tsubaki’s table. She beamed wider, golden-brown face almost glowing.

“Yeah, wanna see? Here, I’ll adjust the microscope for you-” she fiddled with the black and silver monstrosity on the long stainless steel table, adjusting knobs with her eye held at the eyepiece with a practiced precision. She even adjusted the eyepiece to a lower level for the much shorter man.

Black Star looked torn between a grimace and a grin, though he stepped up to the microscope without a trace of hesitation. Kid hung back, both hands settled on his cane, content to survey without interfering for now.

There was a distinct tightness along Black Star’s jaw, a tension in the way he held his hands with knuckles just a touch too white, tendons straining along the wide path of his muscular hands. He was tense, and from more than just the fact that he was looking at the microbiome of his father’s gut underneath a heavy-duty microscope in the basement of the DCBI, who was currently holding him under witsec for a crime he may or may not have committed but was also a key character witness to, on the proverbial run from his assassin mob blood-family.

Well, when he put it like that, Kid supposed there was quite a bit for Black Star to be tense over. Nonetheless, the man wasn’t nearly as confident or relaxed as he was attempting to portray. Kid didn’t have to be their resident forensic psychologist to figure that much out.

“What is this shit? It’s all covered in holes, lookin’ like some kinda closeup shot of the moon or somethin’!” Black Star exclaimed suddenly, pulling Kid out of his reverie.

“What’ve you got for me, Tsubaki?” Kid asked, suddenly remembering why they had come down here in the first place. If they weren’t quick enough Stein was likely to set fire to something in the lab. Again.

“Right! Sorry, Kid,” Tsubaki moved Black Star out of the way of her microscope with a gentle push of her hip, adjusting the microscope eyepiece again to Kid’s height. “Here, come take a look.”

Kid stepped into the spot she had just vacated, now making intricate hand gestures as she spoke, undoubtedly pacing around the room as she tended to do. English, the lingua franca of Death City, was Tsubaki’s second language, having grown up speaking primarily Japanese during her childhood in Osaka. She told him the hand gestures and pacing helped her keep her thoughts organized while she mentally translated between languages, the first time Kid witnessed her raving to herself about a case in her lab with instrumental video game music playing louder than any human being should be able to reasonably withstand.

Kid adjusted the microscope to his own personal preference, eyeing the slide with a critical eye. Like Black Star had said, the thin smear of White Star’s intestinal lining on the slide was riddled with holes, pebbly and rough, like a sweater that had been left in the closet too long and was eaten away by moths. The tissues were disturbingly pale, tinged a slight greenish color, devoid of any blood. Something microscopic and carnivorous had eaten through the tissues, it seemed.

“So, like you and the good doctor initially saw during the autopsy, White Star had very obviously been poisoned or ingested some kind of chemical substance that would have similar effects-- antifreeze, deadly mushrooms, anything like that! But, neither you nor I found any kind of residue that would indicate chemical poisoning! So, the next logical step was something… natural; floral, herbal, something like that.” She continued to pace, giant goth platforms jingling as she stomped. Apparently Black Star wasn’t the only frustrated one here. Despite her choices in footwear, Kid had never heard her make anything but feather-light footfalls.

“So the next step is-- is venom. I thought possibly poisonous snake venom, maybe that of a particularly strong spider, but the autopsy didn’t yield any puncture wounds on the body. The next question is how and why he was poisoned. The obvious answer is he was poisoned directly, had something injected, something slipped in his drink-- but for all the enemies we know Star Clan has, we don’t know who, exactly, they are, and what they have at their disposal.” Tsubaki ran a frustrated hand through her long inky ponytail, smile beginning to strain around the edges. “Sorry. I’m just a little frustrated with this. There’s too many unknowns for me to feel comfortable.”

“I mean,” Black Star spoke up, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, arms crossed over his chest, “there’s always Arachnophobia.”

Kid whipped around, a renewed fire in his eyes that made Tsubaki’s face contort in concern and even Black Star took a hesitant step backwards. He thrust a finger into the man’s broad chest, a coy grin flavored with notes of malicious intent curled across his face. “You. Me. Interrogation room. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed! concrit and comments are always appreciated. if you have any questions feel free to ask! i love talking about my headcanons.


	3. a little birdie told me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> black star is interrogated (again), kid seeks medical attention, and the field agents accept a case.

Kid refrained from pacing on the clear side of the one-way mirror some minutes later, instead settling for scratching furiously at the inside of his wrist, other resting in a white-knuckled grip on the head of his cane. There were chairs specifically set up for observation, but he couldn’t sit down, muscles tight like coiled springs. The tension in his gut only wormed tighter, tighter, till it was a squirming knot of worry, while Marie interviewed Black Star for the second time that week.

Marie Mjolnir was an unassuming woman at first, standing at a modest five-foot-seven at best, golden hair in cherubic curls and a smile always on her heart-shaped face. The gold-embossed eyepatch tended to put people off at first, peeking through the careful fall of her bangs over the left side of her face, but she had a soft way of speaking and an even softer voice. She’d talked many suspects through confessions, watched hardened men break down at her words, held the hands of shaking young victims as they admitted the horrors they’d been through at the hands of their spouses.

She was good at her job, and everyone who worked with her knew it.

Of course, that didn’t mean every case could be cracked with soft words and gentle leading questions. They didn’t call her The Hammer for nothing, and not all of it had to do with her MMA skills.

Marie stood in front of Black Star, hands folded primly in the small of her back, looking down at the man through the lashes of her good eye.

“Tell me more about Arachnophobia.”

Black Star rolled his eyes, looking for all the world like a petulant teenager being told to clean his room and not like a probable murder suspect shackled up again in the interrogation room of the DCBI. “I told you everything I know. Haven’t been around them since I was a teenager. They might’ve changed heads by now, I dunno. People are always backstabbin’ each other in that line of work.”

Marie hummed, flipping through one of two case files on the table in front of her, “Lets go over it again, shall we?”

“Star Clan, your family, is a well-known mob of assassins with ties back to the yakuza in Japan. They’ve been operating under the radar for the past, oh, two decades or so here in America. Stop me if I’m wrong.”

Black Star stayed silent, so she continued.

“Arachnophobia, a mob organization headed by two figures only known as the Gorgon Sisters, however, has had their foot in the game for the past four decades, possibly longer. They haven’t come onto our radar till recently, not till signs of their criminal activity began creeping into Death City. The Gorgon sisters are known by Arachne and Medusa, though it’s unknown if those are their true names. Anything sounding familiar?”

Marie began to pace; slow, predatory circles around Black Star and the table, like a lioness stalking her prey. “Over the recent years, Star Clan and Arachnophobia have been creeping closer together. Trading hits, doing favors for each other, passing some muscle back and forth where they need it. A notable participant in all of this was White Star. Some say he was even grooming an heir to take his position, till said heir mysteriously disappeared.”

“You think I teamed up with Arachnophobia to kill my old man, and now I’m tryin’ to get the pigs off my ass and make them take the fall?” Black Star growled, tensing against his binds. Marie shrugged, taking her seat once again.

“I’m not sure, why don’t you tell me? I’m sure there’s a lot more you know about Arachnophobia than you’re telling us.” She leaned forward on her elbows, uncovered eye squinting critically. “You gain nothing holding information back from us, Black Star.”

Black Star squirmed in his seat, crossing his arms as far as the handcuffs would allow, turning his gaze anywhere but at Marie. She settled back into her seat, perfectly content to wait him out. She could rise, stretch, take a break to pee or get coffee. Black Star could not and would not until he told her something of worth. “I have all day.”

“There was a third Gorgon sister,” Black Star said suddenly, rolling his shoulders like he was expecting to get into a fight. Marie knew little of the inner workings of Star Clan, but from what she had surmised, familial contact between the Clan members ranged from pop quizzes on escaping a chokehold to friendly knife fights over dinner.

No wonder the poor boy had tried to escape, nor why the Barretts had taken him in. Marie knew Sid personally-- he was a good man, if a little heavy on the tough-love style of teaching and childrearing for her tastes, but a good man nonetheless.

But now was no time to get sentimental. Marie resisted the urge to pat her own cheeks and shake her head, like she always did to clear her psyche. The man in front of her was a hardened criminal, if a low-level one, and she was a lioness waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. A lioness, Marie!

Marie nodded, knowing Kid would be fastidiously recording every new tidbit of information that came out of their charge’s mouth, despite the fact that the entire session was being recorded. “‘Was’?”

“Yeah,” Black Star shifted again, both of his legs jittering beneath the table. Marie would’ve attributed it to nervousness, possibly a tell that he was lying, but for what she could tell it seemed as though Black Star had a constant need to be moving. Marie could only speculate what he was running from. “Shaula, I think her name was. The youngest one. Was always real rebellious, tryin’ to start shit with the Clan or me or the old man. She got too close to the inside, and Star Clan doesn’t let anyone who isn’t Star Clan see the inside. Guess she wasn’t satisfied with the power she had in Arachnophobia, so she tried to double up.”

“And?” Marie prompted, though she knew where this was going. She’d had this conversation before.

“He offed her. Clean, easy. Star Clan is assassins, after all. Do this shit for a living.”

“Why was it so important to get rid of Shaula?”

“Fuck, I dunno,” he ran a hand through his hair. The electric-blue stalagmites went every which way, even messier than they had been before. “I dunno! White Star likes-- liked-- to flex his power. Show it off. Make sure people knew who to be afraid of.”

“Did he ever do that to you?”

“What, you gonna have me show you on the doll where he touched me? Nah, he might’ve been a bastard but he never did that kinda shit to me. He knew I coulda broken both his arms if he tried. Bastard.”

Despite his words, there was a crack in his voice, the very last word cutting off in a sharp creak of grief.

“Do you miss him, Black Star? Do you miss your father?” Marie asked, gently, gentler than she had been the entire session. Lioness, hiding in the brush. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“Fuck no! I couldn’t-- I couldn’t care less if he was alive or dead.”

“Then why are you protecting him?” Marie snapped, standing so sharply her chair scraped against the floor with the angry screech of metal against stone. “What are you afraid of, Black Star? Who are you hiding from?”

“I ain’t afraid of no one! Don’t talk to me like this!” he screamed in return. Marie felt more than heard the one-way mirror rattle in its frame. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare talk down to greatness like this!”

“Then who are you protecting?” Marie snapped back. She had been in this field too long to be shouted down by a man half a foot shorter than her.

“My _family!_ My real family!” Black Star screamed, voice cracking, splintering, shattering into a broken mess of a thing. Marie settled back in her chair. Her hands were bare, now, covered in callouses and scars from picking up broken pieces, cradling shards of cracked pottery in her palms. He had broken, finally, and now she was to put him back to rights. Lioness, stalking in the grass, abandoning the limping gazelle to return to her cubs. The hunt would come again. The hunt would always come again.

“Sid? Your foster father, Sid Barrett?”

“He adopted me last year. Made it official,” Black Star chuckled weakly, voice raw, wiping at his eyes the best he could with wrists still manacled. “Sappy old man. Him and Nygus-- Mira Nygus, his step-sister-- they took care of me since I was just a snot nosed kid. Anyone who reveals anything about Star Clan gets got. Tellin’ you this much about Arachnophobia is just a double target on my head. No one escapes Star Clan, and no one gets forgotten by Arachnophobia. I can’t do that to them, to Sid and Nygus.”

“I’ll bring you some water,” Marie offered, standing. At the very least she’d give him time to put himself together. Upon leaving the interrogation room she was met with Kid who looked as though he was about ready to vibrate out of his skin. She glanced down, tutting softly.

“Kid,” she muttered, reaching gently for his sleeve. “Your wrists.”

“My- oh.” He glanced down, appearing to take in the sight of his bloody red wrists for the first time, scratched raw by his anxious hands. There was blood crusted underneath his fingernails, which had been perfectly manicured before Marie entered the interrogation room.

“Go see Frank, alright? I’ve got this covered,” she gave him the best sunny smile she could manage at the moment, reaching up to gently pat his cheek, gauging his face for reaction. He would never admit it, he was a grown man and a prideful one at that, but Marie had been something of a mother figure for him ever since she entered the DCBI as a fresh faced forensic psychologist. His father had been the director for as long as anyone could remember, the only time he had ever taken time off was a handful of months of paternity leave, but he’d been back soon enough with Kid on a sling around his chest, as quiet and placid as he was today as he had been since the day he was born.

Kid sighed, leaning into the contact just briefly enough for the both of them to register that he had. But then he was moving again, moving, moving, always moving, never still, bustling off to the autopsy lab to have Stein clean and bandage his wrists and undoubtedly delve elbow deep into another autopsy to keep his brain and hands busy.

Marie returned to the interrogation room with a cup of water for the both of them, unshackling Black Star’s wrists but leaving his ankles attached to the chair. Despite the rolled eyes Kid threw in her direction every time she spoke well of the man, she did know Black Star was a criminal, even if the charges had been juvenile at best.

But he was not a murderer, that, Marie was sure of. She just had to figure out who was.

Marie sipped at her water, letting the silence inflate into a comfortable buffer between the two of them, letting Black Star recuperate from his outburst. He didn’t seem like a man who cried easily, or often.

“What’re you gonna do about my folks?” Black Star spoke up after several minutes of silence had lapsed between them, voice creaking slightly on a hoarse note. He cleared his throat, attempting to pull of a cool, unaffected posture, even as his eyes slid hopefully across the room to meet Marie’s gaze. She smiled, warm and placating.

“We’ll assign them a protection detail for the remainder of the case. They’re important, of course, but not in quite as vulnerable of a position as you are. I’m surprised there have yet to be attempts made on your life, in all honesty.”

“Eh,” Black Star waved off the concern, shrugging dismissively. “Nothin’ I’m not used to. My cousins used to try that shit with me all the time, but none of ‘em ever pulled anything worse than food poisoning or broken ribs off. Just goes to show there’s no beating guys as big as me.”

Marie blanched. She knew life in Star Clan had to be different, so much removed from any mainstream childhood, but teenagers making attempts on the life of another teenager, likely only to be moved up a position or two in the Clan?

She’d expected brutality, not outright remorseless murder.

Star Clan reminded her a bit of tiger sharks, of how the young would beat each other to death while still in the womb and the victor was the pup lucky enough to be birthed. It almost made her shudder to think of. But perhaps, now with White Star dead and Black Star in their custody, the Clan would dissolve like so much blood on the wind.

One could only hope, but she was nothing if not hopeful.

“Do you have any allies in the Clan, or possibly in Arachnophobia? Anyone who might turn over information?”

“No one’s gonna stick their neck out for the runaway, even if I am White Star’s kid. Like I said, no one escapes Star Clan, and no one gets forgotten by Arachnophobia. We got a sayin’, in the Clan: ‘don’t start none, won’t be none’.” Black Star’s expression settled into something unusually grim, at odds with the usual cocky, lopsided grin and borderline wild look in his eyes he had been sporting since they first took him in. Even the handcuffs and ankle restraints hadn’t been enough to dull it, nor the news that his father was dead. If Black Star held such reverent fear for Arachnophobia and Star Clan, then their agents-- _her_ agents, her friends, her family-- needed to watch their backs.

Marie felt a headache begin to bloom behind her bad eye.

“But, uh,” Black Star shifted, scratching at his arms like he was planning on clawing out the disquiet from the inside out. “There might be a couple. It’s been a while, but I can see what I can do.”

Kid frowned into the wide mouth of the stainless steel sink, scrubbing resolutely at his the raw skin of his wrists. The water was cold, a numbing balm to his stinging skin, sharp crackles of discomfort radiating through the wounds where he worked in the extra-strength soap, the kind they used for scrubbing up before and after autopsies. He sighed through his nose, pumping soap into his hand for the sixth time and beginning the process again, teetering on a single creaky step halfway up the staircase of his mind. Depending on how he threw his weight, he could fall up, or collapse and tumble down, all the way to the beginning again. He’d be damned if he was going to fall, not now, not in the middle of a case as big as this.

“You’re not usually this bad.” Stein’s voice floated to him from across the lab, piercing through the depths of his reverie. Kid pumped soap into his hand for the seventh time.

“No, I’m not. Would you believe me if I said it was the stress of the case?”

“No.”

“I thought you wouldn’t,” Kid sighed. His arms were tinged a pale pink from palm to elbow. “It was worth a try.”

Stein grunted, with it coming the telltale sound of his rolling chair creaking across the lab, Stein peddling across the linoleum with those absurdly long legs of his. “Considering I haven’t seen you like this since the Asura case, I figured it went a little deeper than that.”

Kid stiffened. Pumped soap into his hand for the eighth time. Scrubbed at his arms, fingertips something approaching numb. The water was cold on his skin, pink and irritated as it was. It cut through the ache like a knife. He inhaled. Held it. Exhaled.

“I think this job is finally getting to my head, good doctor. I’ve never been affected so personally by a case like this, not since-- well, you know.”

“‘Finally’?” Stein snorted. “Like it wasn’t getting to you before? You’ve got a bleeding heart, Kid, and I don’t mean that in the sense of internal bleeding. Dry off, let me bandage those.”

“I’d be much happier if it was in the sense of internal bleeding,” Kid responded dryly. “At least that, I know how to deal with.”

He dried off as instructed, hopping up to sit on one of the autopsy tables and presenting his arms for Stein to inspect like the good patient he was. Admittedly, one with self-inflicted wounds more often than not, but at least he was trying. The same could hardly be said for the good doctor, who was currently humming something under his breath as he slathered Kid’s wrists in antiseptic. Stein had had to get a metal plate put into his skull sometime around a decade ago, and had annoyed the nurses so much he was discharged an entire day early. Kid’s father had certainly found the entire ordeal amusing, at the very least.

Stein hummed, speaking without looking up from his ministrations. His fingers were cold against Kid’s skin, long and dexterous, a writer’s callus against his left middle finger from where he held his surgical tools. “You know what I think?”

“I know you’re going to tell me anyway despite what my answer is, good doctor.”

“I think it’s your charge, Black Star. He seems to be grating one you unlike anyone else ever has before.” The quiet shuffling of cloth, Stein’s chipped fingernails scraping gently over exposed skin. “I know you definitely aren’t related, which was the case with Asura, so it has to be something of an equally similar, personal nature affecting your work ethic.”

“My work has been nothing but stellar since the beginning of this case, and it will continue to be so until it’s been seen through,” Kid sniffed indignantly. Stein chuckled softly under his breath, motioning for Kid to offer up his other arm.

“I didn’t say anything about your work, I said your work _ethic_ , Kiddo.”

“You know I hate when you call me that.”

“I know,” Stein replied cheerily, spinning gauze around Kid’s thin stick of a wrist. “That’s why I do it. All things in my life are fueled by infuriating you in some modicum.”

“And how has my work ethic been affected, pray tell?” Kid asked, swiftly maneuvering the topic back to their original one. Stein had always had a habit of rambling. Stein finished, securing the last bandage with a strip of medical tape, bracing his hands on his knees and looking up at Kid, finally. In their current positions they were almost eye to eye.

“Your compulsions are getting worse, for one. Don’t think I didn’t see you scratching your head while filing reports yesterday—“ Kid ducked his head sheepishly— “and now this. You said it yourself he was infuriating the very first time you met him, and now he’s living under your roof, throwing off your routine and wreaking havoc in your life.”

Stein settled back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, the very picture of an author portrait at the back of a medical textbook— aside from the rippled line of scarring across his face, curving over one eyebrow and crossing his nose to swoop under the opposite eye, of course— fixing Kid with an appraising look. “I think there’s something deeper going on. You should talk to Marie about it before I do. We all know how Asura affected you-“

“Would you quit bringing him up?” Kid snapped. Stein merely raised a pale silver brow in response, something like amusement tweaking the corner of his mouth.

“More irritable, too.”

Kid dragged a hand down his face, and then copied the motion with the other. If he was going to be distressed he was going to do it as symmetrical of a fashion as possible, dammit.

That’s why he hadn’t stopped at one wrist and continued the compulsive scratching on the other, mirror images of distress on the insides of pale forearms that hadn’t seen nearly enough sun in all his years. He began to pick at the edge of the bandages till Stein made a chiding noise at the back of his throat, wheeling back across the lab towards the line of steel cadaver lockers set into the wall.

“C’mon, we have cases other than this one. Get your scrubs on.”

“Maka, dear,” Marie put on her best sunny smile as she braced her hands on the Senior Field Agent’s desk, which was to say, her usual smile.

Maka looked up from her desk with a start, having been carefully cataloguing case data into her dinosaur of a desktop. Marie knew she hated that thing with a barely concealed fury, as evidence from the hairline crack along the monitor casing where she’d roundhouse kicked it in a fit of sleep-deprived rage several months ago. She generally took any excuse to get away from it. “Can you take a mission for me right now? Let me explain before you agree.”

“What do you need?” Maka asked in return, thinly concealed apprehension laced through the undercurrent of her voice. Marie beamed brighter, pulling up a spare desk chair to sit in.

“What do you know about Mifune Leon?”

Soul blinked across the way at her, looking up from his own computer. “That guy? He’s been charged with multiple accounts of murder, breaking and entering, and carrying an unconcealed weapon in public, but no one has been able to convict him for longer than like, a day. Here, let me throw it up on the plasma.”

The plasma screen blinked for a moment as Soul accessed files, clicking around till a mugshot of a man in his mid to late thirties popped up. He stared resolutely, almost boredly, at the camera, brown eyes narrowed in suspicion and pale flaxen hair hanging in curtains on either side of his face, ends coming to a rest on his collar bones. He certainly didn’t look like a man who could have such convictions, despite the edges of a dark, bold tattoo creeping up from the collar of his worn white long sleeve. Marie couldn’t quite make out the design. Maka frowned, leaning back in her chair and tapping a pen against her chin.

Marie nodded, slowly, one leg crossed over the other and fingers steepled on her knee. “If I’m to believe what our little Star Clan birdie is telling us, he has information that could possibly be relevant to the case, but he won’t want to come in unless he thinks he can strike a deal.”

“And?” Liz piped up, “Are we going to give him one?”

“We have to get him inside the building, first. I’ve taken the liberty of getting his current address from Black Star,” Marie slapped a post-it note onto Maka’s desk. “Take him with you, let him talk to him. They’re old friends, apparently.”

“Alright,” Maka said, standing. “Get your gear, we’re going out.”

“I’ll drive!” Patty all but shrieked, jumping out of her chair. Maka fished her keys out of her coat pocket and tossed them in Patty’s direction, who caught them with a gleeful giggle. Marie caught Maka’s wrist, leveling her best maternal look in her direction.

“Be careful. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I will be,” Maka promised, hooking their pinky fingers together just long enough to shake them and seal the deal. Marie smiled even despite the nerves churning in her gut, at the idea that Black Star could have been lying to them all along and they were walking directly into a Star Clan trap. Maka glanced at her team, expression solidifying into something unswayably determined.

“Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! as always, comments, concrit, and questions are always appreciated!


	4. hire a samurai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> black star gets a mission, kid entertains a child, and mifune opens up.

The home of an ex-yakuza and current mercenary for hire under the employment of multiple gangs is both everything and nothing that Maka expected it to be.

The DCBI van-- big and blocky and stark black, unremarkable except for the license plate that marks it as coming from the state of Nevada-- sits at the corner of a neat row of little picturesque chocolate box houses Maka could see herself living in in another life, where she isn’t a member of the federal and local government and doesn’t have a bullet wound on her hip slowly scarring over from a firefight gone wrong not but two weeks ago. The houses are small, square, painted in appealing pastel colors with small patches of front yard and white picket fencing sequestering off a larger backyard, window planters stuffed with bright flowers and a welcome mat at the doorstep. A stone patio sits opposite the garage door, with simple, metallic patio furniture in the form of one of those long, low, rocking swings Maka would spend summer afternoons sitting in with her papa as a child. A memory grips, bitter and cloying, for her attention at the back of her mind, but she forces it down for now, instead focusing on the convicted criminal they’re about to trust to not rat them out to a most likely armed gang member fidgeting in the back seat between Soul and Patty.

Liz looks up briefly from where she’s taping a wire to the skin of Black Star’s collarbone, lip gloss-painted mouth cocked to the side in a grimace that’s surely going to turn sour if Black Star doesn’t stop wiggling around so much and let her attach the damn thing.

“Okay,” Maka said, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the too-wide wheel, squinting at Black Star through the rear view mirror. “Let’s go over this again. What’s the plan?”

Black Star looks like he wants to roll his eyes but refrains, likely considering the proximity Liz has to his unprotected neck and chest. Even foolhardy children of gang members and assassins aren’t that stupid, apparently.

“Go up. Knock. If he answers-“

“Which you’re telling us he will,” Soul adds unhelpfully and more likely than anything just to make the guy fidget more so Liz will maybe slap him, the ass. His gaze locks with Maka’s briefly in the rear view mirror and a shit eating grin worms it’s way across his pale face just long enough for her to register it was there. “Not like your whole freedom is hinging on this or anything, dude.”

“ _When_ he fucking answers, tell him I’ve got in the shit with Arachnophobia and need his help and can offer protection if he does.”

“And if he asks about where you’re getting the protection from?” Liz asked, seemingly satisfied with her work and motioning for Black Star to put his shirt back on, which he does with something between panache and reluctance. Maka didn’t know the man very well, but from the disturbingly small shorts he wore in neon colors and the gaudy choices in hairstyle, she could guess he would’ve preferred to be shirtless like the overconfident frat bro she had pegged him as at first impression.

“‘Friends of the family’.”

Liz nods, seemingly appeased. “If he’s armed you’re going first, ninja boy.”

“Ninja- he won’t be fucking armed, okay? He could kill you a thousand different ways with a fuckin’ chopstick anyhow.” The last part was muttered under his breath as he shuffled out of the open door of the van, already making for the front door without so much as a word, cutting across the carefully manicured lawn and leaving behind prints in the lush grass with his obnoxiously oversized cheetah patterned kicks. Soul scrambled to turn on the radio connecting them to Black Star’s wire, which came to life with a slight crackle and the rustle of fabric against microphone amplified far too much in the small space.

Maka’s fingers kept up their drumming 4/4 time against the steering wheel as Black Star knocked thrice on the door, doing… something with his hands just out of her view that she was definitely going to ask him about later. Moments passed, air cold and tight in her chest, until the pleasantly dark green door creaked open and a sliver of the man Maka had only seen pictures of up until that point appeared between the door and doorframe. Maka couldn’t quite make out his face for the distance, but he appeared more surprised than pissed, which was already going in a better direction than she had initially been hoping for.

_“Hey, man. Long time no see?”_ Black Star’s voice came crackling through the radio, thick and patchy with static. Mifune Leon’s returning words were indecipherable through the noise, too low and soft to make out, Soul twisting knobs and dials until Black Star came through clear again. _“Yeah, I’ve been hiding.”_

_“Unsurprising. Are you well?”_ Mifune’s voice was soft, heavily accented and low, the kind of gruff a man who had seen far too much shit and was already far too tired of it sounded like.

_“I’m good. Listen, I need to talk to you about somethin’-“_

_“I don’t want an in with whatever ponzi scheme you’ve cooked up this time. Angela is-“_

_“That’s what I came to talk to you about!”_ Black Star cut in smoothly through the slowly mounting anger in Mifune’s tone, hands up in a placating manner through the vision of the tinted windows. Maka sucked in air through her teeth. Black Star could be dead before anyone in the van even had the time to draw their sidearms and they wouldn’t even be able to do anything about it, and he wasn’t even the smoothest talker in the first place.

_“Alright.”_ The door opened a touch more, and Maka could see Mifune lean back on his heels, head tilted back in silent appreciation. _“Come inside. There are eyes everywhere.”_

Black Star slipped in through the narrow space, keeping up an amicable chatter the entire time, remarking on the decor Mifune had seemingly redecorated his small, picturesque home with. There was a clatter and a shuffle of what Maka could only assume was Black Star removing his shoes and settling on a chair somewhere. A distant bang and a shout too far from Black Star’s wire to make out, but it carried the tone of a disappointed parent Maka had heard far too many times in her short life. A few more clatters, bumps, the shuffle of paper against paper and Black Star was speaking again. Maka’s tapping picked up into a slightly uneven 8/8 time.

_“So, there was something I needed to talk to you about-“_

_“Of course. But-“_ Mifune’s voice dropped, switching to a language that distantly registered to Maka as Japanese. Soul looked up from his radio with a panicked look and it was then that Maka realized literally none of them in the van at that moment spoke Japanese, which just so happened to be Black Star’s first fucking language. _“-[take that fucking wire off].”_

_“[Fine, but you have to at least hear me out. I have an offer that could change your entire life- Angela’s entire life.]”_

A beat of silence, and then Black Star spoke again, softer, almost pleading. _“[Don’t you want out?]”_

A grunt. _“Fine. But it comes off. No third party is hearing me strike a deal before I even know what it is.”_

“He’s taking the wire off,” Soul murmured, looking down at his radio with a look of defeat. Liz rolled her eyes, throwing a lock of wavy blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah, Soul, we got that part.”

Many terse minutes of silence passed even despite Soul’s best efforts to tune into a frequency that would let them hear the conversation between the two men inside the house. Once, there was a bang, just loud enough that the wire picked it up, and the entire van stiffened; but no noise followed, and Maka couldn’t decide whether that was a comforting or worrying notion.

It was only as the sun rose high in the midday sky and several of their stomachs were rumbling with the thought of a missed lunch that the front door of the house creaked open. The four in the van perked up, Liz and Patty drawing their sidearms and Soul peering the best he could through the tinted windows, fingertips dancing along the grip of the pistol sheathed at his hip.

“They’re coming out,” he announced, something approaching dumbstruck. Maka grinned.

Mifune Leon was an even quieter man than he had initially appeared through the osmosis of Black Star’s commendation on his honor and the few crackling lines of speech that came muttered through Black Star’s wire. The man sat between Liz and Patty in the back most bench seat, arms crossed over his chest and bags discarded at his feet, including a sheathed katana with a decorative yet worn handle. His daughter, a girl of six years old with bright, strawberry blond hair and bright brown eyes that denoted her as likely not of Mifune’s blood, was bundled into a car seat next to Soul in the middle seat, chattering animatedly. Black Star had been delegated to the passenger seat next to Maka in the front, a fact that she would have expected him to look giddy about in any other circumstances.

As it was, the man stared out the window to his right, brows furrowed tightly and an almost… forlorn look on his face. Maka didn’t peg him as the type to look forlorn, or even feel anything aside from ecstasy and pride, but he continued to prove her wrong with every hour spent together. She cleared her throat, suppressing the urge to ask after his mental wellbeing. Many times had Marie attempted to impress upon her that it was important to keep the witnesses and suspects alike in high spirits, lest they fall into a depression and send the whole case tumbling down like so many clumsily constructed building blocks.

Yet Maka found it hard to dig into the parts of herself that cared for someone who had done so much wrong, not with the way people she had trusted with the deepest parts of her soul had wronged her previously. Maybe she was just so bitter and jaded at the age of twenty-six, but she did her work and she did it well. There was a reason she had made it this far and there was a reason she wasn’t going to put her guard down, not again, not so soon.

The drive back to the DCBI compound would have been silent if not for the constant chattering commentary that Angela kept up, Soul unwillingly sucked into responding, but Maka could tell he was enjoying himself the slightest bit as they neared the end of the drive and the security guards buzzed them through the ten-foot-tall iron gates sequestering the compound off from the rest of the city. She could tell with a glance into the rearview mirror that Mifune was immediately tense, shoulders drawn back in what would have looked like relaxation on anyone else, much different from the slumped set of his broad frame he had entered the van with. Guarded, sure, but relaxed, toothpick in the corner of his mouth bobbing as he chewed on it idly.

She pushed the issue to the back of her mind, switching the van into park and checking that the safety was still on her sheathed pistol, fingering for her badge at her hip. “We’re here.”

It wasn’t unlike a small funeral procession, leading the Leons and Black Star out of the van, through the garage, and past the security chamber where they were marked with glaring neon yellow visitor badges. Angela had been relegated to the crook of Mifune’s arm, his worn duffels on the other shoulder and Liz carrying the katana that no one was relaxed enough to give him full control of yet. Angela continued to chatter, Mifune chiming in with hums and quiet questions when appropriate. The little girl switched between Japanese and accented English freely, so Maka got the impression that the man had been raising her for the majority of her life, if they weren’t from the same area to begin with. Marie gave her sunniest smile as they entered the bullpen again, reaching out a hand for Mifune to shake.

“Marie Mjolnir. It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Leon,” she said, as warm and pleasant as honey butter on fresh toast. Mifune grunted, acquiescing a sharp, brief handshake in return. His long-fingered hand dwarfed hers, sleeve receding up his wrist ever so slightly with the movement and the barest hint of dark bands of tattoos as thick and permanent as a brand against pale, scarred skin. Even in the delightfully oppressive heat of summer, he wore long sleeves and pants, and Maka had a feeling he was hiding something more than a few scars.

“No need for that. Mifune is fine.”

“Of course, Mifune,” Marie returned, hands folded in front of her. Maka registered that she was making herself look smaller, nonthreatening, even as dangerous as she knew the woman to be, but she’d be hard pressed to find a single person in their little crowd that believed it. Even as airheaded as some claimed Patty to be, she had finished her schooling with excellent marks, and was as sharp with a weapon as anyone else Maka had ever met, if more so. The ire of the younger Thompson sister was nothing to be trifled with, either.

“If you’ll follow me, I believe you and I are due for a conversation.”

Mifune made an uneasy noise, thin brow lifted as he regarded the little girl in his arms. “But Angela-”

“I’ll take her,” Black Star offered, already reaching out to take her. Angela wriggled out of her father(?)’s arms and into his with a cry of joy, so Maka got the feeling that this was not a new turn of events for the three of them. Mifune slowly, almost unwillingly dumped his bags to the floor of the bullpen just behind Maka’s desk, where they would stay for safekeeping for the foreseeable future. Maka had little idea about what was going to happen with the men before her, considering the complicated nature of the situation that even her analytical brain had trouble parsing, but she knew it wasn’t going to resolve itself anytime soon. She hoped Mifune and Angela were a fan of safehouses, at least.

Kid found himself in the first floor break room after a particularly strenuous autopsy with little idea of how he’d actually gotten there. He remembered scrubbing down with his usual routine (wash up to the elbows with as hot of water as he could stand eight times over, check himself for obvious symptoms of cold or flu, a quick spritz of himself and anything he’d recently handled with disinfectant) but after that… well, his legs had carried him here of their own accord, apparently. He knew being so close to a case did things to him, after all he’d experienced it before not only with several murder charges that had put his older brother away for life but a case that had tracked all the way back to Liz and Patty’s birth mother’s drug circles in New York, but to have his faculties leave him for even the shortest of moments was alarming, to say the least.

So, with the fog in his head and the usual tight, breathless feeling in his chest that meant he would need to sit down soon because his faulty heart was pulling another stunt, he wouldn’t say it was unreasonable for him to be surprised at the high, childish giggles coming through the gap between the break room door and it’s frame. Kid wasn’t the kind of person that hated children, far from it, really, but he always felt a certain kind of dread plaguing him whenever there was a child in the compound-- mostly because cases that involved children were never good things.

To his shock and surprise, the little girl parading around the break room with a package of skittles from the vending machine and squealing in delight was not one he had seen before, nor was the sight of Black Star chasing her around with his scarred and calloused hands curled into the shape of child-safe monster claws one he expected to see, well, ever. Kid watched for a moment, a small smile curling across his face despite his best intentions, waiting for the two of them to notice him standing at the open door. The little girl, who couldn’t have been older than six or seven, suddenly whirled on her heel with a brazen expression and aimed a kick at Black Star. Kid winced in sympathy as her shiny little Mary Jane connected right in the-- ow, that had to hurt.

Black Star’s head whipped around to glare at Kid from where he was crouched on the floor, attention finally having been diverted by the smug giggles Kid was doing a poor job of concealing. There may have been the slightest hint of a blush high on Black Star’s brown cheeks, but Kid thought he might pardon the man the peace of mind and chalked it up to the exertion.

Kid whistled, high pitched and innocent, walking over to offer Black Star a hand up. To his surprise, the other man took it, hobbling over to one of the various uncomfortable plastic chairs to sit. Kid chuckled, lower this time, and took a seat across the table. “Well, seems as though the great Black Star can be defeated, after all.”

Black Star flushed, for real this time, and grumbled out a, “Shut up,” through his embarrassment. Kid had barely opened his mouth to shoot back another quip when the same little strawberry-blonde terror that had been antagonizing the biggest thorn in Kid’s side popped up from underneath the table, regarding him with blatant suspicion and a sticky, candy-stained mouth.

“Who’re you?” she asked, pushing a flurry of curly, frizzy bangs out of bright brown eyes with the hand not clutching the remainder of her skittles in a death grip. The hair immediately fell into her eyes again and she huffed.

“You may call me Kid. And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” he returned with a soft, polite smile. She brightened, clambering into Black Star’s lap despite the man’s grunt of protest, leaning on her little hands across the table to get a better look at Kid.

“Angela!” she beamed, taking a deep breath and proceeding to rattle off a series of rapid fire questions. “Whaddya do here?”

“I’m a forensic pathologist.”

“What’s that?”

Kid leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “It means I cut up dead bodies.”

“Ew!” Angela shrieked, collapsing into Black Star’s lap with an expression of disgusted delight. Well, at least he knew where she might’ve picked it up from. “Why d’you have white hairs? Are you old?”

“A witch cursed me when I was a baby. And I’m older than you are, at least.”

“How old’s that? I’m six.”

“Five-hundred-and-twelve.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way.”

“Why d’you use a stick to walk? Are you hurt?”

“It’s where I keep my sword.” Kid winked, looking up to see Black Star’s expression of confusion when he aimed a wink at him as well, surely trying to deduce if Kid actually kept a sword in there or if he was just playing it up for Angela’s benefit.

“Can I see it?”

“It’s very dangerous, I’m afraid. Maybe when you’re older.”

“That’s what everyone says! Mifune says, ‘Angie, when you’re older, you can flip the pancakes on your own, but for now I gotta help you’!”

“I’m sure Mifune is a very wise man.”

“The wisest-est!”

It was as Kid caught Black Star’s adoring, lopsided, chipped-tooth grin directed at the bouncing girl in his lap and his heart started up with a new rhythm that he was wholly unfamiliar with, that he thought this case was going to be a hell of a lot more complicated than any one of them could have guessed.

Mifune Leon, by Marie’s estimation, was the kind of stoic, stalwart man that few knew how to crack. One of the kind of men with a secret temper broiling beneath the surface, hidden beneath layers of practiced calm and a placid mask, like drywall smoothed over crumbling foundations and brightened with a fresh coat of paint. He kept a tense, guarded posture, that toothpick in the corner of his mouth forever present, ever bobbing as he chewed on it idly. His preference for long clothing even with the near unpleasant heat outside spoke to the fact that he was hiding something, or he was just a man who got cold very easily. But Marie guessed it had to be the former, considering the slivers of dark, heavy black bars inked deep into his skin that peeked out with every rise of his sleeve, every shift of his collar, every movement of his shirt he was quick to correct and keep the tantalizingly secret detail of the tattoos on his skin hidden.

Marie had a few tattoos herself-- would be hard pressed to find anyone in the Death City area that didn’t sport tattoos, piercings, or unnaturally colored hair-- but nothing so embarrassing that she kept it hidden at all times. Tattoos like his, from what she had seen and what she had guessed on, alluded to a dark past he would rather keep buried underneath the foundations of the quaint little chocolate box house Maka’s team had found him in. Unfortunately, Marie was nothing if not a one-woman wrecking crew, and her fingers constantly itched for new secrets to unearth.

She settled in across the sturdy, bolted down table in the interrogation room across from the man, hands folded primly overtop a manila folder thick with pages. Mifune remained unbound, unlike Black Star during his own two visits to interrogation, though he wasn’t as relaxed as one would think even without the heavy weight of those silver bracelets on his ankles and wrists. Marie hummed, thumbing through the folder with everything like idle curiosity, paper cups of water set invitingly on the table for the both of them.

“So, Mr. Leon,” she began, “how have you been? I’m sure this was a confusing ordeal.”

“I want a deal.” he said, voice as flat and emotionless as the rest of him. Though he leaned back in his chair, he was not relaxed, this much Marie could tell for certain. His broad shoulders were tight even underneath the loose shelter of the oversized dark long sleeve, long legs drawn up tight enough that his knees almost brushed the underside of the table when he shifted into a more comfortable position. It made Marie wonder how small he really was underneath all that clothing, if the hang of the loose pants and shirt off his frame were an intimidation tactic, or if he was just the kind that put on muscle in a very lean manner. The katana, of course, spoke to some kind of swordsmanship, and the Thompsons would never let her live it down if she thought that a trained swordsman could go without building any muscle as their skill mounted.

Regardless, she knew he was a hired hand, a kind of mercenary assassin for both the Star Clan and Arachnophobia, in what little information she’d been able to unearth. As much as it pained her to say, the two groups kept themselves tight under wraps, even with the fearsome reputation Star Clan had been garnering in recent years. It made sense, then, as to why Black Star hadn’t left sooner, hadn’t spoken up before now about the injustices his blood family were creating on their very own streets, and why it had been so very difficult to track him down. If she hadn’t had personal connections with Sid through the DCBI, she doubted she would’ve ever found Black Star in the first place.

It was like he said; Star Clan and Arachnophobia didn’t like it when their people talked. And the people that talked, well… they were usually never heard from again.

“Of course, of course. I’m sure Black Star discussed that with you already?”

A shrug, just the barest shifting of shoulders to indicate he’d heard her. He tilted his head to the side, sheets of flaxen hair falling across his face with the movement. There was a cut in his right ear that seemed to never have healed right, edge ragged and chunks missing. “A bit.”

“Well, I’d love to hear what the two of you discussed. Really, he said he knew you better than anyone else, so we didn’t give him much in way of a script.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either. Mifune hummed.

“‘M sure your little agents know well enough. They sent him in with a wire, didn’t they?”

“Well, Mr. Leon-”

“Mifune is fine.”

“Well, Mifune,” Marie amended, golden smile starting to strain around the edges the way it always did when someone made her repeat herself. Especially if that someone wasn’t listening to her in the first place because she was a woman, or disabled, or a thousand other inane reasons that had made her want to commit some very violent crimes in the past. Sure, she was perfectly sunny on the surface, but when she was wronged, her temper ran hot and deep, as dangerous as rushing white water rapids at the bottom of a canyon, forever carving out a deeper and deeper path. Mifune was toeing that precipice pretty hard at the moment, but she reminded herself that losing her cool would only serve to make him freeze up even further. Exploding would have the exact opposite effect it had with Black Star, she assumed; where Black Star met every emotion thrown at him beat for beat, Mifune responded to even the most challenging taunts with cool, aloof confidence. Marie was itching to find out what it was that really made him tick, but at the moment, she had a few ideas.

“Black Star tells me you have a little daughter. Angela, was her name?” Marie thumbed through her file again, sliding a glossy photo from near the top of the pile across the table. Angela, all of six and beaming, stared off into a distance past the camera in the photo, clutching a half-melted ice cream cone in one hand and what could only be Mifune’s hand in the other, her guardian’s arm trailing up and out of frame. There was that sneaking peek of those tattoos, again, at the edge of his wrist.

Mifune tensed, sitting up in his chair and intercepting the photo with his fingertips before it could slide over the edge of the table and onto the floor, looking at it with all the same admiration that he looked at Angela herself with. He cleared his throat, spinning the photo around to face Marie idly. “I’m her guardian, yes.”

“Pardon my asking, but the two of you don’t look anything alike. Is she your daughter by blood, or by adoption?” Marie offered another smile, softer, more conspiratorial, meant to be shared between the two of them alone. She hadn’t the faintest who was on the other side of the two way mirror at the moment, but this didn’t concern them anymore. It was just her and Mifune, now. “I’m adopted, myself. Mjolnir is a Swedish name but I’m anything but, really.”

“... Adopted.” Mifune offered after a period of silence, looking as though he couldn’t decide whether to relax or continue to be unnerved. “It’s an unfortunate story, but I became her guardian after some… interesting circumstances.”

“And what would that be, if I may ask?”

Mifune remained silent, tracing the edge of Angela’s messy bob in the photo. Marie injected all the soft, sympathetic notes she could into her voice, leaning forward across the table in interest.

“Please, Mifune. I promise, as long as you cooperate, there will be no persecution, here. You could be a key component in destroying an oppressive syndicate that has had it’s hold on the area for years. Don’t you want that?”

“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear. She elected to ignore it. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest again, walls going back up. Marie would have cursed herself if he hadn’t begun to speak, so soft she thought the mics in the room might not even pick it up. “I used to be part of the yakuza. She was a hit I was assigned, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t use violence against a child so young.”

“How did you get out? I’m sure it must’ve been terrifying.”

Mifune snorted, rubbing at his upper arms as if he were trying to warm himself up, or maybe repress a rotten memory that came bubbling to the surface. He turned away, hair obscuring his face once again. “Arachnophobia offered me a job, and protection for Angela. I didn’t care about myself-- I still don’t. It’s always been for Angela, everything’s for Angela.”

“You’re a very dedicated guardian, to protect her like that.” Marie placated, reaching out in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. Mifune eyed her open hand like it was a live snake, so probably not.

“Has Arachnaphobia been keeping the two of you safe all this time?”

“For the past two years, yes. That’s how I met Black Star.” Another snort. “I’m surprised the kid actually managed to make it out. He’s always been much more foolhardy than the rest of us.”

In the back of Marie’s mind, it registered dully that for them to have been under Arachnaphobia’s protection for the past two years, ever since the botched hit that resulted in Mifune being her guardian, Angela couldn’t have been more than four when she had been slated to die. But that was another matter entirely, one she’d dissect later in the darkness of her own bedroom in the late hours of the night, wife deep in slumber and snoring softly next to her.

“We can offer you protection as well. That’s why we originally--”

“Arachnophobia will still find us, no matter what you do.” He was leaning forward, now, hands braced on the worn knees of his jeans, a determined set to his brow she had yet to see. Something fiery and barely snuffed was smoldering in the depths of those hooded brown eyes, too, lined with age beyond his thirty-some-odd years. He didn’t seem all that much younger than her, honestly, but carried himself with the weight of a much older man. “No matter what you change our names to, or where you hide us, or however well you cover our tracks. They’ll find us. They have eyes everywhere.”

“Why would you agree to this, then? A deal offered by a kid who barely made it out alive, that might not even be true? Why risk safety like that?”

“Because I’m a fool who doesn’t know when to stop, firstly,” Mifune sighed, rubbing at his eye with a bruised and long scarred over knuckle. “And I wanted an out, for the both of us. Either we stop them now, or we die trying. So,” Mifune locked eyes with her for the first time that day, the cold, hard, tempered steel of his deep, tired brown and the flash of determined surprise in her kind, warm gold.

“What do you need to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so so so much to everyone who has been so patient and stuck with me this far! i'm so glad to finally get an update out to you all. the state of current events has really sapped a lot of my creativity but i'm determined to work on these, so i hope you all enjoyed! as always, leave any questions, comments, or concerns in the comments, and everyone stay safe out there! <3

**Author's Note:**

> [1]: doctor of medicine. kid is a forensic medical examiner.  
> [2]: kid has a congenital heart defect that makes his heart rate increase incredibly high at unexpected times. along side this, he also has anemia and a connective tissue disorder. to take some of the strain off his body, he uses a cane as a daily mobility aid.  
> [3]: doctor of psychology. marie is a forensic psychologist.  
> [4]: bachelor of science and american board of criminalistics certified. liz and patty are ballistics analysts and field agents.  
> [5]: doctor of osteopathic medicine. stein is the chief forensic medical examiner.  
> [6]: doctor of criminal justice. lord death is the DCBI director.  
> [7]: master in forensic science. tsubaki is a forensic scientist.  
> [8]: bachelors of criminal justice. maka is the lead homicide detective/field agent.


End file.
